Rachel Dawes, realized the maid, who had done her homework. Harvey Dent’s dead girlfriend. Killed by the Joker—or so they say—shortly before Dent was killed by the Batman.

The row of pictures was like a miniature cemetery, complete with headstones. The maid ran her fingers over the gilded frames before moving on to the most conspicuous oddity in the room—a full-sized archery target mounted to a large wooden cabinet. More than a dozen arrows were stuck in the target, clustered around the bulls-eye. Intrigued, she reached out to inspect one of them, only to yank her hand back as a new arrow thwacked into place, only inches from her fingers.

Startled, she spun around to see Bruce Wayne himself, looking rather more haggard than the dashing billionaire playboy the world remembered. He stood at the other end of the room, clutching a large compound bow. She was impressed, despite herself.

She couldn’t remember the last time someone had snuck up on her.

Bruce lowered the bow. He put it aside and picked up his cane.

“I’m…I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Wayne,” the maid stammered sheepishly. She struck him as very young and embarrassed. “It is Mr. Wayne, isn’t it?”

He nodded and limped toward her.

“Although you don’t have any long nails,” she babbled nervously, “or facial scars…” Her voice trailed off.

Bruce inspected the inquisitive young intruder. He didn’t recognize her as one of the regular maids. Must be a temp taken on for tonight’s festivities, he figured. Couldn’t resist snooping around.

“Is that what they say about me?” he asked. She shrugged.

“It’s just that…nobody ever sees you.”

That’s the idea, he thought.

A flawless pearl necklace graced her slender neck. Bruce came closer.

“That’s a beautiful necklace,” he commented. “Reminds me of one that belonged to my mother. It can’t be the same one, though. Her pearls are in this safe—”

A large mahogany bureau rested against a wall. He used his cane to press down on a recessed wooden panel, which slid aside to reveal a hidden compartment.

“—which the manufacturer assured me was uncrackable.”

The door of the safe swung open.

“Oops,” the maid said. “Nobody told me it was supposed to be uncrackable.”

Her whole attitude changed in an instant. She dropped the coy, girlish act and took on a cockier, more confident posture. It reminded him of the way he had once discarded the role of a careless, immature playboy, whenever it was time to let his true self out. He was impressed, despite himself.

Bruce nodded at the pearls.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you take those.” They had been a gift from his father, which his mother had worn on the night they were both murdered. In a very real sense, they had cost his parents their lives. He wasn’t about to let anyone walk away with them.

“Look,” she said, smiling, as she stepped toward him, acting not at all concerned about being caught red-handed. She sized him up with a look. “You wouldn’t hit a woman any more than I would beat up a cripple…”